


The Greatest Gift and Honour

by EryiScrye (SomberSecrets)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, mulan-esque au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25763362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomberSecrets/pseuds/EryiScrye
Summary: “Selwyn of House Tarth!”Jaime scoffed, “Lord Selwyn Tarth has served several war campaigns.”A tall man who was not Selwyn Tarth, but certainly of his brood stepped forward, “And he will serve no more. I will serve in his stead.”Jaime narrowed his eyes. “I had heard that Lord Selwyn lost his only son in a tragic accident over two years ago.”Bright blue eyes bored into him. They were the clearest, truest eyes he had ever seen. Calm. Intelligent. For a moment he wondered if he would ever be able to look away. “No. That was his only daughter. My sister.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 127
Kudos: 386
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	The Greatest Gift and Honour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slipsthrufingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipsthrufingers/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta lewispanda and Nire who read over this when I spiralled. Thank you so much to the organizers of the exchange! Fire, Slips, Nire! Ya'll are fabulous :)

Winter was coming. 

The days were growing shorter and shorter, the sun barely casting its rays of light over the Wall before it would begin to sink below the horizon again. Snow blew from the north near every second, blinding the soldiers of the Night’s Watch and freezing the skin of their faces and fingers. 

Jon Snow, the Lord Commander, stood proudly, his hand gripping the bone white pommel of his Valyrian steel sword. 

He was the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the walls, the fire that burned against the cold, the light that brought the dawn, the horn that woke the sleepers, and the shield that guarded the realms of men.

But he didn’t feel like it.

His long, dark eyelashes brushed against frost bitten cheeks.

If only he had known as a boy that what he had called the north was nothing compared to what lay beyond the Wall. He missed the morning frost that would melt into dew. It was just ice here now, nothing but cold, frigid ice.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped even further, penetrating his thick furs and the droning of the sound of a horn echoed across the cold expanse. Jon blinked, staring into the inky blackness of the night. The first call heralded the arrival of soldiers of the watch. None had been sent out that eve.

A second blast of the horn resonated through the falling frost as Jon gripped the pommel of his sword tighter in his hand and signaled one of his men for a torch. Two calls signaled an attack from the wildlings. The Freefolk had long joined the soldiers of the Night’s Watch, scared south by a great and terrifying force.

One of his men placed a lit torch in Jon’s hand and he made swift, sure steps towards the nearest brazier. He told his man to take another torch and to go to the next and light it too. 

His man smartly  _ ran _ .

Jon dropped his torch into the pile of coals. The flame licked at the dark cinder before the brazier burst to life. Jon saw another orange flame light in the distance and like a river flowing, flames in braziers all down the Wall sparked up one by one. 

All Jon could do now was what he always had known his duty was. Buy the Kingdom time. 

The last blast of the horn cut through the shriek of the wind. Jon hoped he would live his life without seeing  _ them _ arrive, but that was not his fate. He now knew that he would die upon this frozen wasteland; he only hoped his body would be consumed by fire. He drew his sword as he peered into the distance.

The Others had arrived.

* * *

The Stranger awoke with a fury.  _ No one  _ took from them.

* * *

King Rhaegar stood tall before his council clutching a parchment in his hand. “We must call the banners.”

“All of them, Your Grace?” Randyll Tarly asked.

“They have all pledged me their loyalty, have they not?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then all of them.”

* * *

Brienne stood up and dusted off her knees. The flame of Galladon’s candle on the Stranger’s altar flickered as though it was acknowledging her departure. Tomorrow morning, when she returned to light another one, that candle would be another stub counting the days since her brother and the heir of House Tarth had died. 

Now her House’s legacy was on her shoulders. However, Septa Roelle had assured her that after she had been rejected by Ronnet Connington and had broken Humfrey Wagstaff’s collarbone, House Tarth would die with her and Brienne couldn’t help but think that was true. No man would love her because of her looks and no man that didn’t love her would suffer her boldness. 

There was only one way that her House would be saved now, but as long as she lived her father refused to sire any more heirs. Everyday she wished that it had been her brother who had been spared. Only she could make such a right mess of things.

Brienne exited the family Sept to see Selwyn Tarth lounging on the marble bench staring out at the sea. Selwyn turned to her as she shuffled towards him and he gave her contented smile, “My dear, come sit with me for a while.” Brienne obliged and settled at her father’s side. “What do you see when you look out over the horizon?”

Brienne watched the waves crash against the marble cliffs, churning up white seafoam that cut through the otherwise beautiful sapphire waters. “I see an unstoppable, unyielding force of nature.”

Selwyn nodded and pointed, “I see where the sun rises.”

* * *

The raven came during supper, a summon of at least one able bodied man from House Tarth to Harrenhal where one of the divisions of the Realm’s army would gather and then depart. Brienne screamed. Her father shouted. They had never fought that fiercely in her twenty years. She ran into the rain, into the Sept and displaced all seven hundred and seventy six candle stubs in her grief. 

The eyes of the altar blinked.

But Brienne took no notice. 

She was making her choice.

If no man could love her and she could never not be bold, then why not be the most bold she could be. 

That night she broke into her House’s armory and buckled on her brother’s suit of armor. It creaked with disuse although it still looked shiny and new without a speck of dust.

As she reached for her brother’s sword, her hand stilled. Brienne swallowed. Her brother’s sword had been her father’s sword, had been her grandfather’s sword before that. She couldn’t have the blade be lost from House Tarth, for she knew that was what it would be, what she would be. Even if she wasn’t killed in the war, even if she wasn’t discovered and executed, she would be gone long enough for her father to produce a true heir and it was that heir whom the sword belonged.

Brienne retracted her hand and instead dug through the armory. She found a blade buried and unkept among other discarded weapons. It had been the one she had used, used to duel her brother, to swing around the training yard, to dance drills and to cut with before she had been forced to become a lady, and ladies of the Realm could not wield swords. It was slightly too small for her now, but she had been almost of height at fourteen. At least, after six long years, the weight and balance of the blade still felt familiar. She found a sheath and sword belt and buckled the sword to her side. 

In place of the conscription notice, Brienne left the next candle that she had planned to burn for Galladon. She knew her father would understand that tomorrow it would burn for her too. 

* * *

When Selwyn Tarth lit the wick, grief beyond measure coursing through his veins as he prayed on his knees, the Stranger roared with power.

* * *

Jaime stood beside his father over the sennights that it took the bannermen of the Kingdom to gather at Harrenhal. “I don’t see why I should not be on the field of battle.”

Tywin did not even spare his son a glance. This subject had been brought up several times before and the answer was always the same. “You are the heir to House Lannister.”

“I also have a brother.”

As always, Tywin refused to acknowledge his second son’s existence. If he had been given the choice he would have left his first son at Casterly Rock and would have gladly sent his second son into the midst of battle. Then all of his problems would be quickly solved. But no, his first son had made himself known as a warrior, as a master swordsman, and so to hold him from the war would have brought scorn down on the Lannister’s. But just because Tywin couldn’t keep his heir from the war did not mean he could not keep his heir from the battle. 

“It is an honour to be given the title of Lord Commander, Jaime.”

“I am not meant to command green squires. I am meant to command skilled knights!”

“If you cannot turn green squires into skilled knights then you do not deserve the honour of commanding skilled knights!” Tywin did not have to believe a wit of what he was saying. It only mattered that his son did. The head of house Lannister did not have to glance at Jaime to know that his words had hit home. It made him scared, a little, that his son was so simple when it came to foolish notions such as knighthood and honour, but he was sure that his son would not make the same mistakes his own father had made. “You will join me on the field once you have properly trained your soldiers, Jaime,” Tywin placated.

“And when will that be?”

“When you—“

“And fucking Randyll Tarly,” Jaime spat.

“And Lord Randyll Tarly deem that it is so,” Tywin said, his voice holding the note of finality.

* * *

Brienne marched into Harrenhal tired and hungry. While she had been sailing, it had been easy to earn her keep and fall asleep the moment her head had hit the hay. She had grown up on an island with a busy harbor and had learned her way around a boat. Her trip from Maidenpool to Harrenhal had been altogether a different matter. She had had only her rations for the journey, it had been dry and hot, and every night she had been plagued by dreams that were neither comforting nor horrifying, simply unnerving. 

Candles, hundreds and thousands of candles. She had been in a sea of them. A sea of flame that licked, but did not burn. All the while, she had felt a shadowy presence at her back, and another set of eyes upon her. Watching her, watching the person behind her. She remembered holding a sword in her hand, but the weight was wrong, the balance too perfect. It was not her sword. Her sword did not glow blue in the gloom.

Brienne really hoped that now she had reached her destination the dreams would stop. 

“You there!” a man stationed at the gate waved her over, “Have you served before?” Brienne shook her head. “To the west wing with you. There they will find you a room and direct you to the mess hall. You will be put under the command of Ser Jaime Lannister.”

“Ser Jaime Lannister?” she questioned in shock. Everyone knew the name. The only man who had ever been dismissed from the Kingsguard, somehow with his head still on his shoulders despite opening his King’s, the current King’s father’s, throat. The  _ Kingslayer _ .

The man gave her a smirk, “The one and only, now off with you, lad!”

Brienne nodded and headed in the direction that the man had pointed. Her fist clenched. How was she ever going to survive being under the command of such a dishonorable oathbreaker?

* * *

Jaime and the  _ boys _ under his command watched as his father and the Realm’s seasoned warriors rode out of Harrenhal. He palmed the pommel of the sword strapped to his side. His father’s last gift to him, a Valyrian steel blade that matched the one his father was now carrying off into the fight. Jaime would make sure they would reunite soon enough.

“Lord Tarly!” Jaime called out.

“Yes, Lord Commander.”

Jaime turned on his heel and stared his soldiers down. “Roll call.”

Tarly called upon his troops one by one and Jaime assessed each in turn. Although none of them had served, some looked battle hardened, but others looked like they had never even glanced upon a fight in their life. Somehow he was supposed to turn each and every single one of them into competent men, knights deserving of the sword even if not of the title. 

“Selwyn of House Tarth!”

Jaime scoffed, “Lord Selwyn Tarth has served several war campaigns.”

A tall man who was not Selwyn Tarth, but certainly of his brood stepped forward, “And he will serve no more. I will serve in his stead.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “I had heard that Lord Selwyn lost his only son in a tragic accident over two years ago.”

Bright blue eyes bored into him. They were the clearest, truest eyes he had ever seen. Calm. Intelligent. For a moment he wondered if he would ever be able to look away. “No. That was his only daughter. My sister.”

Jaime shook his head, “Why would Lord Selwyn risk his only heir?”

“Maybe you should ask why I would risk my father, Kingslayer.”

A gasp emanated from the crowd. Jaime narrowed his eyes and stepped up in front of the boy. He was several inches taller than Jaime, but he didn’t need height to make men cower before him. “What is your name, boy?”

The boy scowled at him, but in a way that acknowledged the foolishness of his prior slip, “Galladon, Lord Commander.” Somehow, though, he still did not sound afraid or guilty.

“I would watch your tongue Galladon of Tarth,” Jaime warned, “As you seem to know, I have no qualms about silencing men forever.”

“Should I have him thrown in the dungeon for the night?” Randyll asked. Galladon’s head snapped in Randyll’s direction, only now seeming startled.

Jaime turned to him with a terse smirk on his face, “Why should you? He only said what everyone here is thinking.”

Randyll’s face fell.

Jaime turned back to face his most bold soldier, “But don’t think I will tolerate it again, whether to my face or behind my back.”

None of his men replied, though Galladon Tarth continued to give him a dour glare, not at all cowed by his threat. For some reason, Jaime wanted to laugh in delight.

* * *

The presence that had once been shadowy was now warm and steady at her back. Before she had questioned if it was even human, now she had no doubt that it was.

“Stolen…” A voice whispered. The voice wasn’t familiar, but the feeling that it evoked was.

Brienne held up her glowing blue sword.

“Taken…” 

Brienne nearly choked on the nostalgia.

The candle flames erupted all around her, starting at her feet and swirling out like the whirlpools ships got caught in off the shores of Tarth. The pattern was reminiscent of something, but she couldn’t remember what. “You will reclaim them for me…” What did the feeling remind her of?

“Reclaim what?”

That hadn’t been her voice. That hadn’t been the whispered voice. That had been—

Brienne startled awake as the first sun beams peeked over the horizon and began to flood into her bedroom. She was covered in sweat. The light of day allowed her to see what the darkness did not. The feeling, the nostalgia… it reminded her of her daily sigils in the Sept before the eyes of the Stranger. 

Why was she dreaming of the  _ Stranger _ ?

* * *

Jaime was up at the break of dawn and down at the training grounds soon after that. He would practice his drills before cleaning up and joining his soldiers in the mess. His father did not believe in camaraderie between commanders and their charges, but Jaime knew that the most successful leaders knew their subordinates well. It would also do to make sure that they took his threat from yesterday seriously. 

His lip quirked as his feet moved through the familiar motions, the muscles of his arms burning as he swung his sword. Jaime knew that they called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered Kingslayer behind his back, but to hear a soldier refer to him by that moniker so cavalier had been an experience in itself. Somehow he enjoyed it, the honesty behind the derision, but that kind of behaviour could not persist, would not again do.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the subject of his thoughts trying to slip away unnoticed. “Why if it isn’t Galladon of Tarth?”

The tall man froze mid step and turned back as though he hadn’t just tried to run away. “Lord Commander,” Galladon scowled.

“Such reverence today.”

The man’s ugly face set into a firm frown. 

Jaime laughed. “Have you come here to practice your drills?”

“That had been my intention.”

“Come then, have moxie.” 

The boy eyed him suspiciously, but stepped forward nonetheless. Jaime had to give it to him, he had mettle. Galladon took his place far enough away from Jaime that he could run through basic drills unimpeded. 

Jaime watched as Galladon took his steps and swung his sword. His eyebrow rose. The boy had a natural finesse to him. He still had much room for improvement, but there was talent there that could be easily built upon. “Your footwork is too heavy, it slows down your movements and prevents you from switching directions quickly.”

Galladon looked up at him with hard eyes and pursed lips. He didn’t say anything, but the next drill he ran, Jaime was impressed to see that the boy had taken his advice and kept to the balls of his feet. “Who trained you?”

“The old master-of-arms at Evenfall Hall,” Galladon replied easily as he slashed and stabbed.

“Ah, Ser Goodwin then.”

“You know him.”

Jaime smiled, “I like to know of good men.”

Galladon frowned.

“He died from foolishness,” Jaime continued.

“He died because he had a good heart.”

“Foolishness.”

“You would think a good heart was foolish.” The undercurrent of the insult was there even though Galladon did not voice it this time. 

“Only because it is,” Jaime snapped. “You seem to think that the world is like the stories and songs. Well, it’s not.”

“Certainly not for the likes of you.”

Jaime guffawed, “I was knighted when I was fifteen for valour by the Sword of the Morning, the youngest to ever be raised to the Kingsguard. If songs cannot be written about me, they cannot be written about anyone.”

Galladon turned on him and hissed, “You killed your King.”

“And what a King he was,” Jaime also hissed, then stormed away.

* * *

Brienne half expected to be sent to the dungeons the next time she laid eyes on either Jaime Lannister or Randyll Tarly, but when she entered the mess hall, after cleaning up, neither man looked her way. She ate her meal alone in the corner. 

At training after, she once again expected to be made an example of, but the man she had insulted not just once now, but twice, placed no undo attention on her. At least the second time it had not been done publicly.

Brienne expected Jaime to be harsh in his training of the soldiers, but much like how he had given her advice that very morning, the Lord Commander had simply done the same with all the others. No praise but no derision either. The same could not be said of Randyll Tarly, who took every opportunity to scorn the men before him. 

“Pick up the point of your sword, you lazy imbecile, slicing at toes is too slow a death.”

“Maybe if you ate less, you would be able to move faster, you gluttonous pig. I better not see you in the mess hall later.”

“Tell me again how easy it is to trip over your own two feet. At least if someone chops off your left foot, you will still have another left one to use.”

Brienne let out a long breath when Randyll came before her. “Gods, you’re ugly as sin. I hope your sister didn’t have your looks and if she did, you should thank the Gods for taking her.” Randyll observed her sword work, “At least you aren’t pathetic.”

Brienne sure felt pathetic when she cried into her pillow that night.

* * *

Despite her better judgment, Brienne continued to appear every morning at the training grounds, and despite her penchant for insulting him, Jaime continued to appear as well and never told her to leave. For weeks they drilled beside each other, trading the occasional barb and instruction interspersed between his near constant meaningless babbling.

“Today I am going to duel every one of my soldiers.”

Brienne looked up from whetting her blade, “What for?”

Jaime continued making his steps, swinging his sword. Unlike her, he didn’t need to take care of his own equipment. Unlike her blade, his Valyrian steel never dulled. “The best way to understand someone’s strengths and weaknesses is to test them out yourself.”

Brienne stared at him then gave a small nod, acknowledging his statement for fact, before she returned to sharpening her sword. 

Jaime straightened his posture, “Duel me now, Galladon.” 

Brienne looked back up at Jaime, “Why?”

“To get our juices flowing,” he laughed, “And so that I will not have to fight so many one sided battles later on.”

Brienne scowled, “One sided?”

“You don’t think you have any hope of winning against me, do you? I already know every move you will make before you even make it.”

She stood up and circled in front of Jaime and immediately dropped down into a defensive stance. 

Jaime seemed to nearly preen in delight as he too dropped into position. Their swords crossed. It only took five minutes for Jaime to disarm her. 

Brienne hissed, “Again!”

“Do you think it will make a difference?” Jaime drawled.

Brienne picked up her sword and lowered herself back into a defensive crouch. “I have not crossed swords with an opponent since I was fourteen, each time our swords clash, it makes a difference.” Every time their swords crashed, she would know one more move that he would make before he made it.

Jaime made the first lunge. “What have you been doing since you were fourteen if not crossing swords?”

Brienne gritted her teeth and parried Jaime’s blows, “For the past two years I have been training to become the head of my house!”

“And before that?” Their swords swung and kissed, sending sparks flying through the air as they slid against one another.

_ I was trying to become a lady _ . “That matters not,” Brienne grunted. Already, she was doing better, and Jaime knew it too.

“Now, Galladon of the Sapphire Isle,” Jaime grinned as he swept his sword in a high arc and disarmed his opponent on the downward stroke, “If  _ you _ were not swinging a sword, it matters a lot.”

Brienne rotated her wrist and bent down to pick up her sword. “Again!”

“Know that you grimace before you lunge. It gives away the game.”

She worked on schooling her face, but ultimately failed when one of her lunges almost took Jaime by surprise. The smirk still remained even after he disarmed her again two moves later. “Again.”

When she watched Jaime spar with her fellow soldier’s later that day, she took note of everything she could. With a little bit of smug delight, she reveled in the fact that she had lasted longer in some of her bouts with the Lord Commander than some seasoned warriors had.

* * *

Jaime sighed as he made his way down the corridor. His candle flickered in the darkness, casting shadows all around him. Harrenhal was blessedly quiet.

He had tried to sleep, maybe he had even managed to lose consciousness for a couple minutes, but it hadn’t stuck and his muscles were screaming from being so sore. It was a different kind of pain, fighting against opponents who had no idea what they were doing, his body had to move in all the wrong ways to prevent all sorts of catastrophic non-lethal injuries that no seasoned warrior would attempt to inflict.

A soothing hot bath would help him both get to sleep and to take the aches away. In the middle of the night, he might find a moment of peace as well. Being friendly to his soldiers was a double edged sword, he got to know them better as soldiers, but that also meant that he got to know them better as men. And for the most part he didn’t care about the personal lives of most men. 

Jaime threw open the door to the Harrenhal baths and he heard a loud splash in the gloom. 

“Who goes there?” the darkness asked.

_ Most men _ . “Well, if it isn’t Galladon of Tarth.”

“Lord Commander.”

“No, I am the Lord Commander,” Jaime chuckled and set down his candle on a bathing stool. “Why are you bathing in the dark?”

It took a while for Galladon to give him a reply, “I prefer it.”

“Strange lad. I hope my candle does not bother you over much, then.”

“Keep it on that side of the baths.”

“Demanding,” Jaime dawdled as he undid the laces of his tunic, pulling it over his head.

Galladon made some sort of snorting noise, but Jaime shrugged it off before undoing the laces of his breeches. “What are you doing?”

“Bathing in the not so dark,” Jaime replied easily and let his breeches and small clothes fall to the floor. He eyed his candle, and shrugged, leaving it where it was, before he circled around the closest tubs and to the one tucked into the back corner. He stuck his foot in first to test the temperature and when he felt that it was perfect, he climbed right in.

* * *

Brienne pressed herself into the corner as the small waves of hot water lapped at her chest. Her chest binding, tunic, and breeches were too far away for her to reach without getting out. She was lucky her chest was already so flat. In the near dark, she had a chance of remaining undetected. “Get in another tub!”

“Why so shy, Galladon!” Jaime chuckled and submerged himself up to his soldiers. In this corner of the baths with only the slight glow of his candle casting its light, all she could thankfully see was the edge of Jaime’s physique. She had already seen too much when he had been fully lit across the room.

“There are many other tubs available!” Brienne hissed.

“Well I like this one!”

“I was here first!”

“Do you fear I will judge your tiny cock?”

_ I fear that you will realize I have no cock. _

“A compromise. I will stay on this side of the tub and you do what you will.”

“I will stay on this side.”

“So you are not scandalized enough to get into another tub yourself and yet expect me to?”

Never before had she wanted to strangle someone more.

“Did you not have many friends back on Tarth to bathe with, Galladon?”

Brienne answered honestly, “No.”

“Ah,” Jaime replied. “Well then, perhaps I will be the first friend you will bathe with.”

“Do you often bathe with your friends, Kingslayer?”

Jaime flashed her a gleaming smile, “With that title, do you  _ think _ I have many friends?”

She hated all the ways that they had somehow become kindred spirits. 

* * *

Jaime eyed the men in front of him and could already see where their training today was going to go wrong. “Take off your tunics before you burn them,” he sighed and put his own torch down to pull off his. 

“Better to burn my tunic than to burn myself, Lord Commander!”

Jaime rolled his eyes, why did it not surprise him that Galladon would have something to say, “Then keep your tunic on, but don’t come running to me when you need your clothes mended,” he replied, letting it slide how absurd that idea was.

Galladon glared at him, his stunning blue eyes flashing, “I won’t.”

Some of the men followed his example, it was a long dry summer, but the others continued to don their clothes. “It is said the Others are not vulnerable to fire, but their soldiers are, and if one of us falls, their body must go up in flames as well, so we must all learn to fight with a torch in our weaker hand rather than a shield. First, we will practice our drills with our torches unlit, and hope that when we do light them, this will prevent you from setting yourselves on fire quite as soon.”

Jaime swung his sword and demonstrated for his men what it would look like to fight with a torch in his left rather than a shield. His left arm was still kept fairly close to his body, but not as close, and it swept out much more often, almost always following the swing of his blade. 

“Let me see you drill.”

As with simple sword fighting, to some the movements came easier, to others it was unnatural. 

“You will cut your own arm off, you floundering fish!” Randyll sneered.

“It is better for you to keep your sword hand than for you to finish the enemy off with flame, hack first and burn when you can,” Jaime offered more critically, “The Others’ soldiers can be dismembered to the point of uselessness, or at least so the legends say.”

“All that you are telling us are what the legends say,” Galladon said.

Jaime looked his way. “It’s all we have.”

“No ravens?”

“No time to send ravens that ask for anything other than more help.”

Galladon turned his blue eyes on Jaime, “No ravens?” he asked again.

Jaime’s eyes hardened, “Not yet.”

“But you hope there will be.”

“Do  _ you _ hope there will be?”

* * *

Brienne was not shocked when Jaime reappeared in the bathing chamber although it was once again the dead of night. “Why do you always bathe so late?” he asked as he once again climbed into the tub she was already occupying.

She contemplated telling him utter nonsense, but supposed that part of the truth didn’t mean much either, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Strange dreams.”

Jaime scoffed, “I’ve been having strange dreams too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In them I have to train you unruly lot for days on end, and more recently put out endless fires too.”

Brienne rolled her eyes and didn’t reply.

“And candles,” he added. Her head snapped to stare at him, but he was looking at the lone burning flame at the other end of the bathing chamber. “An endless array of burning candles.”

She opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words to say. What was there to say? That she too dreamt of candles?

Jaime turned back to her, “How is your hair?”

Brienne blinked, “Oh, I cut off the singed bits.”

He nodded, “Makes you look less like a maiden.”

Brienne startled, “You think I look like a maiden?”

Jaime chuckled, “Your eyes mistake you, Galladon.”

* * *

Jaime stared at the reports he had received. “Lord Tarly! Come here a moment.”

“Yes Lord Commander.” The man came up to him.

“Tell me what you know of these… Bloody Mummers.”

“Outlaws.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Thank you for that,” he passed the report written by the city guards to the other man, “Does this look accurate to you? You have been keeping track of activity around Harrenhal, have you not? Talking to the small folk? Assuring them of their safety, feeding them from our stores as their crops dry out in this arid heat, asking them about troublemakers, yes?”

Randyll scanned the report. “Yes, this is all fact, Lord Commander,” he said confidently.

“Good, my men and I will go test our mettle by taking care of this small problem. Maybe then you will deem them fit for battle.”

Randyll narrowed his eyes, “Doubtful.”

Jaime pushed his chair back and stood up, “Well, you will be coming with us anyways.”

Randyll sighed, but nodded his acquiescence.

* * *

The report… no Randyll Tarly had been wrong. The Bloody Mummers had been a much larger threat than they had been prepared for and splitting up once they had reached the forest to search for the members in what they had thought was a small band of outlaws had been a mistake. 

Even worse, it seemed that the Mummers had been expecting them. Had been waiting for the Lord Commander, no… the Lannister heir, to leave the protection of the castle and to get him alone.

Brienne screamed as she tried to wretch her way out of her captives’ holds. How she had been the only one left with Jaime she did not know, but now she was the only one by his side to witness, to see…

They held him down and slammed his right hand down on a flat stone. The sick realization of what was going to happen seemed to hit him the moment it hit her. 

Brienne reared back, twisting her arm to the point of extreme pain, but she was able to get her hand on the hilt of a sword. She had never killed before, not before tonight, but she would, she  _ would _ . Her Lord Commander, the Kingslayer, was dishonourable, an oathbreaker, it was true, but he was also the best swordsman that she knew, a man who was willing to be patient not only with her but with every man that was under his command, when he could so easily be brutish, like Randyll Tarly, and simply best them all. 

It was unfair, it was  _ cruel _ what they planned to do to him.

She felt the swing of her blade slow as though it were moving through mud, cutting through wood, before it hissed through the air again. One man's hold on her broke. She turned, remembering to keep light on her feet as she plunged the tip of her blade through the other man's throat then ripped the sword from his flesh so that she could turn towards the foe who was threatening to cut off her Lord Commander’s hand.

Jaime was screaming. 

She was screaming.

His sword hand was already gone.

* * *

Somehow Randyll had managed to regroup the soldiers and find him and Galladon. Galladon who had somehow slaughtered five men in a mad rage that left Jaime wondering if he was once again dreaming. But dreams did not hurt so, did not send such burning agony racing up his arm, into his heart. 

Galladon was now on the ground by his side, staunching the blood flow from his  _ stump _ , from his hand-less  _ stump _ . He had been that sword hand. Without it, who was he now?

“Lord Commander, stay awake!” Galladon demanded as his soldiers formed a ring around them and fought off the other outlaws so… just so valiantly. Jaime almost wanted to smile; it was almost like the tales he had so loved when he had been a foolish child whom had still believed in such notions as honour and knighthood. “Lord Commander!” Galladon’s voice was so far away now. Gentle fingers pressed into his wound. He saw the colour blue. “Kingslayer!”

He lost himself to the blackness.

But then…

Candles upon candles upon candles filled his vision.

And somehow he knew he would not be allowed to die.

* * *

The moment they had managed to collectively carry their Lord Commander back to Harrenhal, they had combined their shared knowledge, along with that of the castle’s maester’s and cleaned his wound with hot wine and cauterized it with a hot blade. The wine had stopped the worst of the infection, the flame the last of the bleeding. Still though, their Lord Commander fell to fever.

Harrenhal became a castle filled with gloom. But something wasn’t quite right. There wasn’t nearly enough somberness to Randyll Tarly’s steps as he took control while Jaime healed. The man didn’t even care to continue what Jaime had started. The rest of the soldiers though, they all took their turns watching over him as he lay abed when the maester was otherwise occupied, somber from their heads to their toes. She was the only one that truly touched him though, that kept him clean and changed his dressings, not even letting the servants do the job. She was really the only one who was comfortable enough with this kind of vulnerability, who didn’t grimace at the wound… or at least that was what she told herself. She didn’t know if it was because she was a woman or if somehow she truly was closer to him than all the others, but she just didn’t understand the disgust in their eyes when they looked at Jaime’s stump.

The rest of the time they trained. They helped each other train. They had failed their Lord Commander, but he had not failed them. Not a single one of them had lost their lives that day against the Bloody Mummers and there was one very obvious reason why. And so they sat at his bedside, called for Brienne when she was needed, and trained.

Swords swung, fires burned, they got better. 

And eventually Jaime’s fever broke. 

But he would never regrow his sword hand.

Brienne was already by his side when he finally truly woke. 

“I smell like death,” he croaked.

Brienne scowled, “You smell like survival.”

He scoffed back at her, “A hair’s difference away.”

“An important hair.”

Jaime huffed. “Help me bathe, Galladon.”

“What?”

“I’ll hit my head if I try to go myself, and drown besides.”

Brienne bit her lip.

Jaime murmured, “I trust no one else to help me with this, but you.”

* * *

Jaime sighed as Galladon lowered him gently into the tub closest to the door, nearest the stool that held their candle, “Not our usual?” He knew that through his time recovering he had awoken several times, and almost every time Galladon had been there. In his dreams, the man had become his protector.

“I’ll hurt us both trying to heft you to that corner.”

Jaime licked his lips and gazed into his companion’s sapphire eyes, “Maybe for once, I will actually see you, then.” Galladon climbed into the tub, roughspun tunic, breeches, and all. It couldn’t have been comfortable in the slightest. “You have got to be kidding me.” Absurdly, Jaime felt his cock stir.

Galladon actually smirked, “You tempted me.”

“Do you really have that small of a cock?”

“Will you stop asking about my cock?”

“Or do you have some hideous scar?”

“I will not be—“

“It can’t be any more hideous than this,” Jaime said and waved his stump around.

Galladon fell silent. “Do you want me to wash your hair?”

“Please. I feel like I am living in a rat’s nest.”

Galladon grabbed a bucket from the edge of the tub and came to Jaime’s side. He filled the container and then gently tilted Jaime’s head back to pour the hot water over his hair. 

“For such a skilled fighter you have the touch of a maiden.”

“That’s twice now that you have called me maiden-like.”

Jaime paused and let out a long breath as Galladon’s gentle fingers pulled tangles out of his hair, “Maybe I’m just trying to justify something within myself.”

“And that would be?”

Jaime shrugged. Galladon lathered a bar of lye soap in his hair. 

“Why do you trust me?” Galladon suddenly asked after he washed away the suds. 

“Why ever should I not?”

“Why do you trust me more than the others?”

“Why ever should I not?”

“I have called you Kingslayer to your face.”

“And many others have called me that to my back.”

Galladon slammed the bucket down on the edge of the tub. “Why did you do it?”

“Why what?”

“Don’t play daft with me,” Galladon growled, “Why did you kill your King?”

Jaime slowly turned towards him, “You know… you’re the first to ever ask that.”

* * *

Brienne knew that they had called Aerys Targaryen the Mad King. But she had never realized the extent of his madness. 

“Wildfire?”

“’Burn them all’,” Jaime laughed. There was no joy in the sound. “I cut his throat so he could say it no more.” 

“Did his son—?”

“Of course,” Jaime dawdled, “But family, and honour, and oaths.”

“Would His Grace have—?”

“Well, now we shall never know what King Rhaegar would have done,” Jaime shrugged.

“Because  _ you _ would never have risked it.”

“You’re making me out to be so valiant, Galladon,” Jaime chuckled, “When the last thing I would have heard if I had died would have been you calling me Kingslayer.”

“I’m sorry I called you Kingslayer.”

Jaime didn’t reply.

“I’ll call you Lord Commander from now on.”

Jaime still did not answer.

Brienne bit her lip in apprehension.

“To be honest,” Jaime finally said.

Brienne looked down at him and saw that he was staring at her, an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes.

“I just quite like the sound of my own name.” When Brienne didn’t reply, Jaime huffed, “Come, curse me or kiss me—“

Brienne breathed it out and tried it on her tongue, “Jaime.”

He licked his lips and she could have sworn that his eyes flickered to hers. But maybe it was a trick of the candlelight. 

* * *

Jaime sat in his room and stared out of his window, looking down upon his soldiers as they trained. He chewed slowly through a piece of nearly stale bread, wondering what was going to happen now. Would he return back to Casterly Rock? Be married off to the first highborn woman his father could find? Who would replace him here? He hoped that someone would come and the men would not be left to Lord Randyll Tarly. The man wasn’t even out there with the soldiers, even as terrible a teacher as he was. 

Jaime frowned and scanned the men. But none of them was Galladon. 

His door slammed open. 

Ah, so that was where the man had gotten to. 

“What are you doing, L—“

Jaime smiled and tipped his head back to look into Galladon’s blue eyes.

“Jaime,” the man corrected himself.

“Pondering my future.”

“Your future is down there with your men,” Galladon raged as he stomped towards him and ripped the chunk of bread right out of his hands. Jaime gasped dramatically. “Get dressed! We don’t have all day.”

Jaime casted an empty look at the man. How did such blue eyes manage to  _ burn _ so fiercely? “I will be useless down there with them, with you. It’s best that I simply return to the seat of my House.”

Galladon scoffed. “Are you truly so craven?”

“Craven?” Jaime growled, waving his stump around, “I cannot even hold a blade.”

“So?”

“So?” Jaime parroted, “I was that sword hand.”

Galladon actually  _ rolled his eyes _ . How had the man somehow become even more bold in his time here? “No, you weren’t.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, you were an unparalleled swordsman with a blade in your hand—“

“Unparalleled swordsman? Galladon, you commend me.”

“–But you were more than just a swordsman,” Galladon explained, “A man who is only a swordsman can’t turn other men into worthy swordsmen.”

Jaime’s eyebrow only rose higher. “What am I without it then?”

Galladon grunted and pointed out the window, “Not a single one of us died out there. You took a group of men, some of whom had not picked up a weapon before they met you, and got us good enough that  _ none _ of us died out there. You might have  _ been _ the best swordsman in the realm, but you  _ are _ our Lord Commander.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed.

Galladon’s nose flared, “Get dressed or I’m throwing you out this window and you can command us in your sleep silks.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Galladon stepped towards him.

Jaime laughed and sprung to his feet. “Oh fine, help me dress and buckle on my armor then.” He pulled off his unlaced shift and saw Galladon turn the most brilliant shade of red. 

* * *

Although seeing Jaime almost completely naked in the light of day had been a mortifying ordeal, the shock he showed at the cheers he received the moment he appeared in the training grounds was worth it. Brienne would be smug for the rest of the day if it pleased her and there was nothing that Jaime would be able to do about it. 

Brienne ran her own drills, practicing with her own bright burning torch as Jaime was run practically ragged, his men demanding his attention every which way. She grinned as her comrades showed off the fruits of their practice, told Jaime their own stories of when they had been split up while chasing the Bloody Mummers, and inquired after his general well being and health. One or two men even offered to help Jaime bathe if he needed aid. But for some reason he turned them down.

For some even more absurd reason, Brienne was pleased that Jaime had. 

When the sun began to set and the men dragged their Lord Commander off to the mess in a ribald cheer, Brienne stayed behind to do a few more drills and make up for the time she had lost while retrieving Jaime.

Randyll Tarly appeared out of the shadows. “I see that you got the Lord Commander out of his chambers.”

Brienne glared at him, “It was quite easy, unlike what you said. He was hardly being unreasonable.”

“He didn’t care to listen to me.”

Brienne’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t believe for a second you even tried to get him to come down here.”

“Believe what you want, Galladon of Tarth, but I’d be careful not to cross me if I were you.”

* * *

A horn sounded. 

The Wall fell. 

Jon stared empty at the sky as his body burned.

* * *

Jaime had two hands and the weight of a sword in his right. A comforting presence was at his back, and he knew instantly who it was standing there. It was his protector. He would know Galladon anywhere. 

At the thought of the man, Jaime’s sword glowed a brilliant blue and the flickering flames of candles once again whirled out from his feet. 

“Galladon?”

The presence at his back did not reply. Jaime’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Galladon?” he called again.

Still it did not reply.

“Galladon of the Sapphire Isle?”

“The Sapphire Isle?” the voice behind him asked.

Jaime shot up out of bed and took a deep breath in. He took a moment to calm himself, but then chuckled. He supposed that meant it was time for his now nightly bath.

He lit a candle with some trouble and made his way from his room down to the bathing chambers. Indeed, Galladon was already soaking inside. “Strange dreams again?” Jaime asked, and set his candle down to awkwardly attempt to disrobe one handed. 

“You too?” Galladon questioned. 

Jaime hummed and carefully made his way to the back corner tub. He would no longer be able to catch himself very well if he slipped. Jaime sighed happily when he settled into the hot water. “You’ve never told me what you dream about.”

Galladon seemed to contemplate, “Because it has been hard to answer.”

“Has been? Do you know what you dream of now?”

“I think I may.”

“Out with it, then.”

Galladon turned his blue eyes on him, and once again Jaime was enraptured. He had dreamt of this man at his back. He would have no other person by his side. He was a fool to have thought that he would ever be able to return to Casterly Rock without him by his side. He wondered what positions at the Rock would be available after the war. Would Galladon take it if he offered?

“I think I dreamt of the Stranger.”

The candle by the door died and they were both cast in darkness.

Jaime swallowed. “Is that so?”

“Do you truly dream of only candles?” Galladon whispered.

Jaime shook his head and remembered the cutting darkness, “No,” Jaime said.  _ I dream of you.  _ “I think I may dream of the Stranger too.”

The candlelight returned.

* * *

The Stranger grinned. It was time.

* * *

Randyll Tarly stared in shock at the notice in his hand. He looked up at Jaime who nodded at him, “We leave to join my father’s army at The Neck tomorrow morning.”

“There must be a mistake.”

“I see no mistake, Lord Tarly. That is my father’s hand, and that is my father’s seal.”

“But he…”

“But he what?” Jaime asked.

Randyll swallowed his words. “We will depart for The Neck tomorrow.”

* * *

Brienne woke up early, long before the rising of the sun, and headed down to the training grounds. Daylight had suddenly become unnaturally scarce. It made her bones tremble. It would probably be the last time she would have an opportunity to train alone. She imagined that Jaime would want to spend as much time marching as possible. 

She was surprised to find Jaime already there. He didn’t notice her right away, too focused on his drills. She watched him… fondly, as he struggled through the reversal of his steps. His sword point was often held too low, his left arm not used to bearing such weight and compensating for the weapon’s balance. But she could also see that it was all there, the natural finesse that he had always had. 

When he finished running through one drill and was not in danger of hurting himself, Brienne called out, “Take my sword.”

Jaime turned towards her and his eyes sparkled in the morning light, “Ah, Galladon. Good morning, if we can call it that.”

Brienne walked over to him and held out her sword, “I keep it as sharp as Valyrian steel and if you give it back to me every night, every morning it will remain that way. Take my sword.”

Jaime looked at the ruby encrusted, gold hilt in his hand, “It is much too heavy for me now, isn’t it?”

Brienne gave him a small nod, “I’m sorry.”

He sheathed the Valyrian blade, “I’ll work back up to it someday.”

She gave him a small smile, “You will.”

He took her sword out of her hand and swung it around to test it. Satisfied, he held out his hand for Brienne’s sheath as well. She passed it to him and he secured the weapon to his sword belt. When he was done, he looked back up at her, “Share a tent with me on our travels.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“I plan to pack lightly so that we can move quicker and therefore take more breaks. It won’t do to have the men be exhausted by the time we reach my father’s army.”

“But to share a tent?”

“I will ask all the men to share their tents.”

“But you are the Lord Commander.”

“It would be silly of me to ask for more when I am a hand less.”

“But Lord Tarly...”

Jaime’s eyebrow rose, “Galladon. I am trying to  _ not _ share a tent with Lord Tarly. He may be the only man to not share a tent, but only because no one will want to.”

Brienne couldn’t help a small snort of laughter.

Jaime grinned. “Will you, then?”

“I suppose.”

“Excellent, then I have another favour to ask of you.” He pointed towards the armoury and they made their way towards the building to get her a new sword.

Brienne huffed, “I should have known there would be more.”

“Train with me while we travel,” Jaime requested. “I would not have my father be as disappointed in me as he could be, and I trust only you to…”

“Not laugh at you?” Brienne asked, the corner of her mouth curling up.

“I trust no such thing of you,” Jaime chuckled, “But I trust only you to be gentle about it at least.” They opened the armoury door and once both of them were in, Jaime shut it behind them.

Brienne pursed her lips. She glanced at the closed door.

“Tell me about your sister.”

Brienne blinked. She had not been expecting that.

“When we first met, you told me that it was she who had passed and not you.”

Brienne swallowed, “Yes,” she managed to choke out.

“What was her name? What was she like?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just answer the questions, Galladon,” Jaime said with a patient sigh.

Jaime found a place to sit as Brienne tried to ease her nerves by picking a new sword. “Her name was Brienne.” It was strange talking about herself in the past tense, though she supposed Brienne had ceased to exist for some months now.

“Brienne,” Jaime said, trying the name, “Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

Tingles crawled up her spine.

“A lovely name. Was she fair?”

Brienne shook her head, “No. She looked a lot like… me. Tall, broad…”  _ Ugly as sin _ . “Homely.”

Jaime sat in contemplation, “Your eyes?”

“My eyes,” Galladon confirmed.

“Then fair enough.”

Brienne couldn’t help but snort. Only Jaime would make sweeping declarations over one simple trait such as eye colour.

“How else was she like you?”

“She was exactly like me.”

“As bold?”

“More so I’d say, for she was a maiden.”

Jaime laughed. “I think I would have liked to have met your sister.” For some reason his tone had become oddly soft, oddly longing.

“Not many men felt that way,” Brienne sighed and chose a sword that balanced well in her hand. It was heavier than her own had been and would be a better fit for her in battle.

“There are no men like me,” Jaime replied.

* * *

Brienne of Tarth. For some reason Jaime mourned the death of Galladon’s sister. He didn’t know why. Maybe it would have been the ease of asking to have her comfort forever by his side. But Brienne was not Galladon, and the only reason he was equating the dead girl to his fellow soldier was  _ because _ she was dead and gone. She had been a woman to herself and he knew that he was disrespecting her memory by doing so.

But a woman with Galladon’s eyes. 

_ Galladon’s eyes. _

_ Galladon. _

Jaime glanced behind him where Galladon rode with his fellow soldiers and resisted the urge to gallop his horse into the countryside and yell where no one could hear. 

He didn’t  _ need _ Galladon to be a woman. It just would have been easier if it was so.

There was one position that would certainly be open at the Rock after the war, if Jaime lived. But a man was not allowed to fill it.

Absurd.

It was all just so absurd. 

“I don’t think your father meant to send that missive.”

Ah yes, there were two reasons that he wanted to ride out and scream for a while. 

Jaime turned to level a look at Randyll Tarly, “So you think that my father mistakenly penned a letter and mistakenly stamped it with his seal, and mistakenly posted it with a raven that knew to fly to Harrenhal, then.”

“I—“

“I’ll make sure to remember to tell my father you think that we Lannisters are fools.”

Randyll startled, “I did not—“

“You do not need to say anything to get the implication across,” Jaime snarled. “I have brought the letter with me. If he truly did not send it like you say, then it is important that we go to him anyways. He must know that his communications have been compromised and it certainly can’t be done by raven.”

Randyll Tarly kept his mouth shut but notably sulked for the rest of the day. Jaime thanked the Seven Gods he had thought ahead about the matter of sharing a tent with the man.

* * *

Brienne shivered. She could hear Jaime shivering. It was their third night out from Harrenhal, there were still seven more to The Neck, and the temperature had suddenly dropped. Where it had been summer in the South, it now felt like winter.

“Maybe travelling so lightly was a mistake,” Jaime laughed. They had remembered to carry at least one fur per soldier, but that was turning out to be not nearly enough. 

“Sleep, Jaime,” Brienne sighed, “I’ll keep the brazier going so that we may not freeze to death.”

“You’ll be tired while we ride tomorrow.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Come here instead,” Jaime commanded, “Let us share our furs.”

Brienne froze. “Jaime…”

“Your oddly shy sensibilities again. What honestly are you hiding, Galladon?”

Brienne felt as though a noose was constricting around her neck.

“We’ll sleep back to back it that appeases you.”

Her teeth chattered with the cold despite the way her jaw had nearly locked at his question. 

Jaime grunted and she heard him shuffle around, “Make a man with one hand do all the work,” he said and suddenly a warm body dropped by her side. Brienne squawked and turned away from him. “You are skittish, aren’t you? Lift your furs at least and then feel free to turn away all you want.”

When Brienne didn’t move, Jaime grunted again and threw his own blanket over her. She was so much warmer. Slowly she lifted her and his furs and Jaime settled down beside her, his warm back against her.

“See now, was that so hard?”

“Quiet,” Brienne murmured and felt a flush crawl up her face. She had never slept so close to a man before. True, she had slept in Jaime’s tent two nights in a row, but his tent was big enough that they had always been a ways away from each other.

“Now we can both sleep.”

It was almost infuriating how quickly it came too.

* * *

Jaime felt warm, incredibly so, when he woke up. It was still dark, like it had been every other morning he had woken during their journey. The daylight was only getting shorter. It was like in the legends, the coming of the Long Night. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and slowly registered that he had turned in his sleep. That he had flung his arm over Galladon’s chest, that his cock was now pressing against the man’s ass. His  _ hard _ cock.

Jaime rolled away as quickly as he could without disturbing his sleeping companion. He knew full well that Galladon would not hesitate to beat him over the head if he knew the state in which Jaime had woken up. Galladon was shy about his body, that much was clear, and Jaime hadn’t meant to overstep such boundaries. Still though, he sighed and flexed the hand that wasn’t there. If it had been, Jaime would have known better what the smooth, muscular planes of Galladon’s chest felt like. 

Jaime left him to sleep a little more, building up the fire to burn small and gentle so that the man wouldn’t freeze, even if he had two furs. He checked on his camp, made sure that no disturbances had occurred over the night with the soldiers that were now on duty and sent them off to rest a while before they would start their day. 

He pulled out Galladon’s sword and flicked it through the air, the blade shining in the fire light. He then messily strapped a torch to his stump. Jaime wouldn’t light it, surrounded by dry shrubbery as they were and unskilled as he was, but it was good to practice. He began his first drill. At his fifth, Galladon joined him with some rations. “Do you want to duel?” he asked. It was obvious that the man didn’t know anything of how Jaime had woken up that morning.

“If you’re up for it,” Jaime shrugged.

Galladon nodded, unsheathed his sword, and found something to stand in for a torch of his own.

Their blades kissed as the first rays of dawn broke.

* * *

By the seventh night Brienne had gotten so used to sleeping by Jaime’s side, she knew she would miss the warmth once they reached The Neck and their arrangement was no longer required. Jaime would assuredly join his father and she would rejoin her fellow soldiers. She wondered if she would feel as comfortable sharing her fur with any one of them. She enjoyed having them as companions, but she thought not.

Jaime always woke up earlier than her, which she supposed was only right as a Lord Commander, but still, sometimes she rued the fact that the only time she got to see him sleep was when he had been dying. She wondered what he looked like in slumber when he was at peace. Though… were any of them truly at peace now that they were heading into battle? 

Brienne pulled on the reins of her horse when she saw smoke on the horizon. No… no they were not. “Lord Commander,” she called.

“I see it too, Galladon,” Jaime nodded. He turned towards his men and gestured with his stump, “Let’s move!”

The Twins were in smoky ruin, the field surrounding the castle charred black as the last flames died to embers. Most of all, it was cold, so unnaturally cold despite the flames. They carefully picked their way through the mess, taking care not to burn themselves, their horses, or their supplies.

Brienne galloped to Jaime’s side. Jaime surveyed the land, the fields were filled with hacked up bodies that could be nothing but the soldiers of the Others, skeletons both bare and clothed but too numerous that they couldn’t just be the land’s unburied dead. “The legends are true…” Brienne breathed.

Jaime’s men broke out to search around the castle. “I don’t… understand. My father… my father should have been up at The Neck to stop…”

One of the soldiers returned shouting. Brienne followed Jaime as they made their way to the northern side of the stronghold. 

Lannister banners and tents lay scattered and in ruin, but no bodies, no  _ whole  _ bodies were among the wreckage. Brienne could see the pyres,  _ smell  _ them, could see the piles of hacked pieces of men and monsters. 

She leaned over her horse and vomited. Jaime’s left hand came and gingerly stroked the back of her neck until she could breathe again. “Don’t ever let sights like this become old for you, Galladon,” Jaime swallowed.

“Lord Commander,” Randyll Tarly called out.

They both looked towards him as he rode their way. In his hand was a sword, and Jaime seemed to immediately recognize it.

“No…” he whispered.

Randyll stopped beside them and held out the Valyrian steel weapon. The obvious twin to the blade Jaime had strapped to his side. Randyll bowed his head, “I’m sorry, My Lord.”

“Did you—?”

How did you even enquire after the death of your father?

It was what Brienne had been trying to prevent, after all.

She felt shock as she watched Randyll Tarly shed a tear, “He was in pieces surrounded by his burnt commanders.”

Jaime swallowed, understanding his father’s last command. His father who hadn’t believed in the Others, but had commanded as the legends had demanded in his final days, “Make sure they are all burned. We don’t want to take any chances.”

“Yes, Lord Commander.”

* * *

Jaime commanded his soldiers to march back south after they were done. They would regroup at Riverrun and send a raven, several ravens just in case, to the King, to all of the soldier camps who had been lying in wait for a notice of help. 

They made it safely down the Green Fork, far enough away from the carnage of The Twins to no longer see the smoke, and found a safe place to camp for the night. 

Jaime stared at his two Valyrian steel blades as they reflected the moonlight. He wondered if his father and his soldiers had been ambushed in the night. They must have. The nights were getting longer and the legends talked about them being endless when the Others appeared. Jaime thought of the pyres, the  _ size _ of the pyres, of the pieces of the men that had been left behind, the  _ number _ of pieces. That meant that there was no time for whetting blades.

He stood up and made his way to his tent, and just as he expected, Galladon was inside sharpening the weapon he had given to Jaime. Jaime threw the Valyrian sword his father had gifted him into Galladon’s lap, “This is yours now.”

Galladon looked up at him in surprise, “What?”

“My father’s sword is smaller, lighter. I will use that, though I am still thankful for your gift.”

“Jaime, you should keep both. Both Valyrian steel weapons, I mean.”

Jaime snarled, “I don’t need two swords.”

“You’re too shocked to grieve, but when the war is over you’ll want—“

“What I don’t  _ want _ is to grieve you too.”

Galladon, for once, shut his mouth.

“And I will be grieving you if your blade grows dull in the middle of a battle and you can no longer hack a dead thing into bits small enough that it can do you no harm. I will not have you rise from the dead; I will not cut up your body!”

“Jaime…”

“Listen to me, Galladon of Tarth!”

He shut his mouth again.

“Name that blade Good Heart and I will name mine Sapphire Eye, and if you insist on returning that sword to me after the war then though they are Lannister blades, they will always remind me of you.”

Galladon’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“Just take it,” Jaime breathed out, losing his fire. He sat down upon the ground. “Is it so shocking that I don’t want you to die?”

“Good Heart?” Galladon asked softly, his fingers skittering over the black and red ripples of the magical steel, “Not Foolishness?”

Jaime huffed.

Galladon gave a true smile, one that transformed his face, brought out the within. Jaime found himself breathless at the sight. Galladon held the sword to his chest. “Good Heart,” he repeated happily. 

* * *

The sun didn’t rise the next day and their journey towards the Blue Fork felt long and arduous in the dark. Even when the day had been short, at least time still felt like it was passing. Now the journey just felt endless. 

Brienne couldn’t help but keep her hand wrapped around Good Heart’s pommel, the sword a comfort on her hip just as Jaime’s presence was at her side. For the most part, they marched in silence. There was  _ too _ much that needed to be said.

The moment they spotted the Blue Fork on the horizon, the temperature dropped. They were attacked before they even saw them coming. 

Immediately, all of Jaime’s men fell into pairs, covering each other’s backs as wights descended on them from all sides. It was almost lucky that it was dark, or else they would not have had their torches already lit to try and burn the dead away. 

Brienne made sure she was back to back with Jaime, and in the moment they touched she  _ knew _ that he was the one that had been in her dreams all that time. 

“How did they know we were coming?” Jaime roared.

Brienne slashed with Good Heart and held out her torch, setting the dead thing in front of her on fire. “I don’t think they  _ know _ anything.” The way the sword moved when it was in her hand, it was almost like it was made for her. She didn’t know if it was because of her dreams, but the steel in her hand almost seemed to glow blue.

Jaime hissed and stabbed with Sapphire Eye, his aim more true than she could have ever predicted. She blinked. Was his sword glowing too? “They’ll come so long as we live.” It was a statement not a question. That was when Brienne realized that none of the wights wielded weapons to cut. They didn’t want their enemy to fall in pieces; they wanted them to fall whole so they could rise again. 

“Your father’s army…”

She felt Jaime tense, “So you noticed it too then, Galladon.”

“He tried to burn and cut at so many… but…”

Jaime laughed, a sound so dark and hopeless, “I may end up facing an old acquaintance today.”

“How many of your father’s soldiers do you think they took?”

Jaime grimaced, “Hundreds, perhaps.”

Brienne let out a breath of despair. They didn’t know how many wights Jaime’s father’s army had fought, had destroyed, and even if they had managed to take down many, they had at least a hundred bodies more. Their contingency was only a little over a hundred strong. They wouldn’t last if this onslaught continued. She didn’t even know if they were lasting now.

That was when an idea came to her. 

She checked the direction of the wind. 

North.

It was a dangerous idea. 

But the sacrifice would be worth it.

* * *

“We must burn the field!” Galladon shouted.

“What?” Jaime snarled as he fended off another attack. Sapphire Eye. It had not been the sword made for him, and yet somehow it felt like it belonged… belonged in what was not his sword wielding hand. 

“The summer, it was only days ago, and it has been hot and dry for many moon turns. The field will burn and so will they! Your father… this was why the land around The Twins was so burnt.”

“Do you plan to die here in flame?” Jaime asked. The thought of it horrified him. The idea of dying by fire. Letting it all burn.

Burning them all.

_ Burn them all. _

Galladon gestured towards the Blue Fork, “We must escape toward the water and if they manage to get past the fire, hope the wights can’t swim.”

Jaime swallowed. “You’re right.”

Galladon must have heard the terror in his voice, must have realized the root of his fear, for he said, “I’m sorry.”

Jaime simply laughed caustically, “No. Don’t be. In this case, it is the right choice.” He shouted his command. The closest of his men heard the call and repeated the words. Soon enough the field around them erupted into flame. 

Jaime sheathed his sword and grabbed Galladon’s wrist with his only hand, yanking him towards the river in his wake. Absurdly, he thought that if they were going to burn, if they were going to drown, if they were going to get overrun by dead things, he would not leave Galladon to fall alone, and if they fell, at least they would fall together. 

The two ran as the field behind them roared with fire. Vaguely, Jaime knew that Galladon was still watching their backs as they moved, slashing at anything that tried to stop them. 

“Go,” Jaime shouted when they got to the river and whipped Galladon closer to the water’s edge, letting go of him before he once again drew his sword. 

“What?” Galladon shouted. 

“As Lord Commander, I must make sure that as many of my men cross first, before I do.”

Galladon stared at him with his absurdly blue eyes. “Then I’ll stay with you.” He stepped up to Jaime’s right and held his weapon out to cover his weaker side.

Jaime wished that there was time for him to lean over and kiss him. But there wasn’t, and instead he put his mind to counting the men who were making it to the river. Wights charged out from between the flames, where the land had not yet been lit by his retreating men, trying to grab hold of any living beings they could, but Jaime and Galladon were there to cut them down before they could prevent escape. 

When Randyll Tarly arrived at the bank, Jaime gave him the directive to organize the soldiers once they reached the other bank, and for once Randyll simply agreed to Jaime’s order and waded into the water. The rest of his men lit the field behind them as they reached the water and reported on those that they had seen fall while they discarded their heaviest pieces of armor in an attempt to not drown as they crossed, and the moment the numbers lined up as reasonably as they could considering the circumstances, he nodded at Galladon. 

They sheathed their swords, but before they could try and take off their own armor, Jaime saw the burning fields shimmer. “Galladon…”

Galladon whipped his head to where Jaime was gesturing. Tall figures of cold ethereal beauty emerged unscathed from the flame, their eyes riveted on to the two of them. “The Others…” Galladon breathed. Suddenly, all of them were wielding lances that looked to be made of ice, except they did not melt with the fire burning behind them. The weapons flew. All of them aimed towards them. “Jaime!”

Jaime felt his body lurch as he was shoved into the river and it was all he could do to not drown. Hands grabbed at him, he felt rope wrap around his torso, and again his body pitched in the water. 

The moment he was dragged to the surface, on the other side of the Blue Fork, he wondered where Galladon was. But only a heartbeat later, he too was dragged onto the bank. Randyll Tarly and his men had saved their lives as they had saved theirs.

Jaime hacked and coughed, “Is everyone okay?” he asked.

Randyll tried to give him the affirmative, but the ones around Galladon made a ruckus. Jaime dragged himself over to his companion and found him clutching at a deep, bleeding wound that tore into his left shoulder. Galladon grinned with bared teeth, “It’s just a scratch, Lord Commander.”

Jaime’s heart thumped in his chest, all kinds of emotions whirling. “You got that saving me.”

Galladon only grimaced again while trying to staunch the bleeding, “I guard your right.”

* * *

Brienne tried to take care of her injury discreetly for the first, what they believed to be, two nights. And two nights would have been sufficient to reach their destination, if they still had had their horses, but on foot they needed another day’s march to reach Riverrun and so she couldn’t hole away in a barred off room and keep her weakness to herself. 

She took a deep ragged breath and gritted her teeth as she failed to sit up on the third day, noisily flopping back down on the ground with a pained gasp. Brienne felt the wound reopen and saw blood and puss soak into her tunic.

Jaime was suddenly before her. “Let me see the damn wound!” he growled loudly, and for all to hear around the campfire they had built. Without their furs and tents, all of them had decided to gather by a fire and sleep side by side for a semblance of warmth at night. 

“I’m fine!” Brienne hissed, knowing that sweat was beading on her forehead and that she was overly flushed.

“You’re festering!” 

“I’m not!”

“Galladon, so help me…” Jaime snarled, then turned towards the other men. “Warm up some extra broth for him, boil some cloth, and help him sit up so that I can see the wound!”

Brienne’s eyes widened, “Lord Commander, no!” But her comrades were already helping her off the ground and supporting her weight.

“I will not have you die on me! If I can survive this,” Jaime shouted and felt like he had to wave his stump in her face for emphasis. “Then you are surviving that. Now, stop making a fuss.”

His hand quickly, almost frantically, tugged at the laces of her tunic. “Jaime, you don’t understand,” she begged.

Jaime seemed startled that she had used his name in front of all the rest, but he continued on, though more gently than before. “I know you have some issues with your body, Galladon, but this is not the time to care about—“ His hand stopped undoing her laces when her tunic opened just enough to show the cloth binding her chest. It was obvious what the fabric was hiding. 

Brienne saw the moment Jaime realized the truth.

She sniffed.

He looked up into her eyes. “Galladon… y-you…”

Brienne squeezed her eyes shut. But it was too late. Everyone had noticed Jaime’s uncharacteristic stumble.

Randyll came up to them, “Lord Commander?”

And it was like he hadn’t meant to say it, but the words left him in a soft whisper anyways, “You’re a woman?”

“A woman?” Randyll cried in disbelief for all to hear. He too then saw the chest binding and his eyes widened first in shock and then in utter disgust.

The hands that had been supporting her quivered, but they did not let her fall back to the hard ground. She saw her comrades turn their shocked gazes toward her.

Brienne grimaced and opened her eyes. They met Jaime’s. And in his gaze she could see that everything had changed.

* * *

Jaime’s mind was both at a total stand still and racing with every thought he had ever had about Galladon… no… about… about  _ Brienne _ . He opened his mouth to try and say something as he– no, she grimaced before him, but no words came out. What could he say? What did he want to  _ say? _

Three words came to him easily. Words he had  _ wanted _ to say to Galladon, but could not, could  _ still _ not, for their uncertain future.

But instead another voice spoke up. “You must take her head, Lord Commander.”

Gasps echoed in the clearing. Jaime rounded on the culprit, “Excuse me, Lord Tarly?”

The man took Jaime’s question literally and nodded at Sapphire Eye,  _ Sapphire Eye _ , on his hip, “The punishment for the disgrace of a  _ woman _ joining the army is death.”

Jaime wanted to gape, wanted to shout, but most of all, he expected to hear loud bold protestations, but when he didn’t, he turned back to the man–no,  _ woman _ beside him. Galladon-Brienne sat there with pursed lips and his-her eyes cast to the ground as though he-she was truly prepared for him to swing the bloody sword. 

Jaime wanted to gag at the image. The woman had left her home knowing that her execution could be one of her ends. Now she was  _ expecting _ it. Expecting it from him. Like she didn’t even  _ know _ him. Suddenly anger burned.

Not only wouldn’t he do it. He couldn’t do it. Not in a million lifetimes. Not even after that. But how could he  _ say _ that. “Lord Tarly,” he snapped instead, “Galladon…” Brienne looked up at him warily,  _ knowing _ he knew her name, “Saved all of our lives today. He—“ Jaime swallowed, “She will be accompanying us to Riverrun.”

Randyll recoiled, “But the law! Her head should be brought to Riverrun on a pike!”

_ Galladon’s head on a pike _ . Jaime turned towards Randyll and snarled, “It’s the Realm’s law. Let the King enforce it when he comes.” Tarly would never understand that he would sooner be called Kingslayer twice over than to see Brienne beheaded.

For the first time, Jaime was thankful that he had slayed the King’s father for him. 

* * *

Jaime ended up caring for her wound in the safety of the trees, away from the other soldiers after they helped carry her there and leaned her against a tree. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Brienne tried not to shiver, not knowing if the impulse was from his touch, from the fever, or from the cold. She took a sip of broth, “You were only trying to help.” After being given water, bread, and more rest, she was already feeling better.

He chuckled, “I thought I could be as pushy with you as you are usually with me, My Lady.” Brienne snorted at that and then winced as he tried to clean the inflamed and weeping flesh. “The first thing we’ll do is pour hot wine over the wound once we reach Riverrun.”

“That will be a waste of wine,” Brienne replied with a sigh.

Jaime paused. “Tell me what I should call you. Do you still wish to go by your brother’s name? By your own?”

“Will I even respond to my own anymore?”

“Brienne? Lady Brienne of Tarth,” Jaime tried on the tip of his tongue. Brienne felt herself blush at the sound of her name on his lips. “Sounds familiar?”

She felt herself flush hotter, “Familiar enough.”

“I’ll call you by your name, then.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you dare tell me that healing your wound will be a waste of wine, Lady Brienne,” Jaime immediately barked.

Brienne’s spine went rigid. “You can buy me time, Jaime. But you can’t change the Realm’s law.”

Jaime growled and clenched his one remaining hand, “I owe you a life debt.”

* * *

When they reached Riverrun, Jaime made a point by dumping an excessive amount of hot wine on her wound. So much wine that there was no question as to whether the wound was clean or not. If Randyll Tarly had been brave or stupid enough to be in the room while Jaime had been caring for Brienne, Jaime would have stared right into his eyes while trying to get Brienne’s shoulder drunk on  _ life _ . 

Jaime then left Brienne in the care of Riverrun’s maesters after making it clear that she was to be treated with every respect they would grant him. Edmure Tully, for all his faults, at least understood that it meant she would have the largest room available in the castle lest he make an enemy of the Lannisters.

After that, Jaime sent ravens out to King’s Landing and to any soldier camps he knew of, and within a sennight he had a notice that the King was soon to join them at the stronghold. Over the fortnight that it took for the King to reach Riverrun, some commanders and their armies from other stations arrived. 

Meeting with the other commanders, Jaime quickly discovered that every one of them had been informed of the fall of the Wall and the Lannister army’s retreat to The Twins and had been expecting a call to arms around the time his father had fallen. 

It took one day, but with a simple sift through his memories and the analysis of some key behaviours, Jaime deduced his father’s agreement with Randyll Tarly. He should have suspected the strength of his father’s influence despite Randyll being one of the King’s men.

“That was why you were so shocked by my father’s request for aid,” Jaime muttered as he stared his advisor down. They were alone in the room Jaime had made his study.

Randyll, to his benefit, looked unmoved, “I was told that our summons would never come.”

“Did my father really think that I would go charging into battle unprepared?”

Randyll nodded pointedly at Jaime’s stump, “He said nothing of the sort to me, Lord Commander.”

“You were both delighted when this happened. My father had hoped for me to return to the Rock.” It was a statement, not a question.

The corner of Randyll’s lip lifted and then fell, “And yet somehow you still managed to drag yourself one handed into the war instead.”

Jaime remembered Galladon…  _ Brienne _ stomping into his room and demanding of him to do his duty. “To do my duty by my men, by my Realm.”

Randyll scoffed, “Tell me that again when you swing your sword at her neck.”

Jaime’s jaw clicked, “Careful, Lord Tarly. The only reason my sword has not swung at yours is because you are the King’s man.”

* * *

Brienne no longer knew her place anymore. 

All she knew was that her fever was slowly breaking - by Jaime’s will alone, if his almost constant presence by her bedside had anything to say about it - and that once it would end, she would no longer know what to do. Lying in bed was easy. Living with the consequences of her decisions was harder. Especially since it had all become so confusing after Jaime had defied the expectations and hadn’t killed her on the spot.

Could she still train, still fight with her comrades? Would they accept her?

Would Jaime remain by her side even after she was healthy again? Would he even acknowledge her once his life debt was repaid?

Would she even remain alive long enough for such musings to matter? Would the King behead her? Would he expect Jaime to? Could Jaime save her?

Was her father already mourning her? Had she already mourned herself?

What did her dreams of Jaime at her back, the Stranger’s candles flickering all around and Good Heart in her hands, glowing a magnificent blue, mean?

Brienne wondered, as Jaime’s name escaped her lips and his warm hand came to sooth her dreams, did Sapphire Eye glow in his dreams too?

* * *

Jaime met Rhaegar and his retinue at the drawbridge in front of Riverrun’s largest gate. The King acknowledged him with a grave nod and Jaime paid his courtesies to the King’s younger siblings, Viserys and Daenerys, before the King called him and Lord Randyll Tarly into council. 

Expectedly, but frustratingly, Randyll brought up the matter of Brienne first. “A woman infiltrated our ranks and Lord Commander Jaime has refused to uphold your law!”

“Without her, we would have all perished on the battlefield!” Jaime raged.

“That does not  _ matter _ ,” Randyll insisted.

Rhaegar held up his hand, “I have heard enough, Lord Commander—“

Those few words weren’t nearly enough to help Brienne’s case. Jaime hissed, “You once granted me a favour, Your Grace.” Jaime knew that he would only be able to get away with this once. But if it was to buy Brienne’s life, then the pieces of his life had only simply finally fallen into place.

Rhaegar blinked at him, his violet eyes widened only a fraction large enough for Jaime to notice, but his eyebrows lifted noticeably. He turned to Randyll Tarly, “For acts of valour, she is pardoned.”

“But Your—“

“Are you questioning my judgment, Lord Tarly?”

Randyll’s jaw snapped shut. “No, Your Grace,” he strained, “But surely she can no longer be allowed to fight. She will distract the men, even looking as homely as she does.”

Rhaegar nodded while Jaime seethed. “Does that sound like a fair compromise, Lord Commander?”

Jaime clenched his jaw, but nodded, “Yes, Your Grace.”

* * *

Brienne woke up finally feeling better on the second night after King Rhaegar had arrived and she had been informed by the maester, while he checked her wound, that she had been pardoned and could now roam the castle freely. She asked after Jaime and was told that he was in council with the other Lords and soldiers, but had been by her bedside throughout the night. Brienne flushed at the knowledge.

She dressed herself in her freshly laundered binding, tunic and breeches, then stared at Good Heart, which was still by her bedside. She strapped it on around her waist and ambled out of her room.

She could hear noise coming from the Great Hall and the King’s booming speech, “The Others seem to have reassembled their undead armies over the burnt plains north of the Blue Fork. It seems they will be moving south in a wave within a day. We must stop them before they pass the Trident or else the Realm will be lost. Today we must all come together, or tomorrow there will be nothing left.” Brienne paused outside the Great Hall and listened. She hadn’t been invited to this gathering, although clearly all the other soldiers had.

“How do we stop them?” a voice asked.

“The legends say that the Others control the wights, if the Others are slain, their armies go down with them.”

“How many Others are there?”

Brienne wrung her hands when she heard Jaime’s voice, “I saw seven.”

“Seven. Why is it always bloody seven?” a voice Brienne didn’t recognize replied in exasperation.

A calmer but still unfamiliar voice replied, “There is magic in numbers, My Lord. Seven is powerful.”

“How do we kill them?” someone shouted.

“Valyrian steel,” the calm voice replied again.

“How many Valyrian steel blades do we have?” King Rhaegar questioned.

“If they know they are vulnerable to the steel, why would they come close to those wielding those weapons?”

“Y-Your Grace, if I may?” one of her comrades spoke up.

“You may, soldier,” the King permitted.

“Out on the burning field b-before it burnt, Lord Commander Jaime and um...” A pause.

“Lady Brienne,” Jaime’s voice offered. Brienne’s heart clenched in her chest.

“Lord Commander Jaime and Lady Brienne’s swords glowed blue." She hadn't been seeing things! "The Others seemed to be drawn to the light.”

“Your swords glowed blue?” the King asked in bewilderment.

“Our swords were glowing blue?” Jaime repeated in alarm.

“Then we must take that woman’s sword and give it to the best fighter,” Randyll Tarly’s voice cut in coldly. Brienne’s fist wrapped around Good Heart’s pommel.

Another familiar voice cut in, “They only glowed blue when they were fighting back to back.”

“Utter nonsense,” Randyll snarled.

A whole group of familiar voices sounded in protest at Randyll’s words. “Lady Brienne  _ is _ the best fighter out of all of us!” one voice managed to cry above the rest. The others joined in with a rallying cry. Brienne couldn’t make out what else was said, but still the sound of support made tears pool in her eyes.

Others, she could hear, opposed the idea of her involvement… of her existence amidst the war. The hall exploded in noise.

“I have made my ruling. We’ll give Lady Brienne’s sword to the next best warrior,” King Rhaegar declared. A cavernous, unhappy silence practically washed out of the room. She too was unhappy. Brienne’s knuckles turned white as her hand tightened its grip.

* * *

Jaime wanted to rage. He asked for some of the King’s time after the soldiers and other commanders left. Randyll Tarly demanded to hear what Jaime had to say too and Jaime did his best to not strangle the man. When the hall completely cleared out, Jaime turned to the King, “I won’t ask her to—“ The door to the Great Hall opened again and all three of them looked up to see Brienne standing tall. “My Lady,” Jaime immediately scrambled to his feet and Rhaegar casted his gaze upon the woman.

“You mean to leave me here while you fight?”

“Know your place,” Randyll snarled, “You are lucky to have your life.”

“Know yours!” Jaime barked at him and then turned back to Brienne, “Yes, it was the compromise we came to, Lady Brienne, but I won’t take Good Heart from you.” He glanced at the King who seemed unsurprised by Jaime’s declaration.

Brienne, infuriating Brienne, turned to the King, “Take my head then, Your Grace.” Rhaegar raised an eyebrow as Jaime gaped, “If I don’t perish in this battle, then take my head as your law demands of you, but don’t ask me to not go out there. Your Grace, this solution will give everybody what they want.”

Jaime opened his mouth to protest. Brienne’s solution absolutely  _ did not _ give him what he wanted.

Randyll, too, opened his mouth to shout.

Rhaegar held up his hand to silence the two men who seemed about ready to burst, “Why do you want to fight?”

“It is my duty—“

“Why do  _ you _ want to fight so much so that you are swearing to forfeit your life?” the King repeated. 

Brienne pursed her lips and her eyes flickered over to Jaime before they settled squarely back on the King. “Lord Commander Jaime, he…” Jaime held his breath as Brienne took a moment to gain hers, “I cover his right.”

Rhaegar regarded her intently. And Jaime couldn’t find the words to say. Again, three words came to mind, no… five, but he couldn’t. Not now, not like this. 

“Please, Your Grace,” Brienne implored.

“So you will cover his right and he will cover your left?” the King asked.

Brienne’s hand flew to her wound as though she had forgotten it. “Yes, Your Grace,” she replied quietly, as though she hadn’t for a moment considered that Jaime would protect her too.

Jaime gaped at the tenor of her voice. Still,  _ still _ he did not know how to express how much comfort he would take at having her out on the field with him and yet how much fear he would have at losing her. If they survived, he would whisk her away to Essos if that was what it took to keep her from the Realm’s law.

Rhaegar sat back in his seat, “I grant you leave to join the battle.” Randyll snarled in shock. “But you will answer to me if you survive, Brienne of Tarth.”

Brienne bowed her head, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“However, you will hand over your Valyrian steel to me. I will ensure you are well equipped with another blade.”

Jaime watched Brienne’s hand tighten over Good Heart’s pommel, and then absurdly, she went to undo her sword belt. Another blade  _ wouldn’t do _ . There was a reason he had given her Good Heart to begin with! Jaime’s palm slammed on the table in front of him, “You want that sword to go to the best fighter on the field, do you not, Your Grace?”

Rhaegar turned to regard him and then nodded.

“Then you should understand, from the words of my men who have seen her fight, that she should be in possession of that sword. Anyone else and you are submitting to the biased whims of addled men,” Jaime glared right at Randyll, who could not protest lest he confirm Jaime’s claim. “Talk to them again if you must, but you shall find that they will say that she… she matched me when I still had two hands.”

Jaime looked over at Brienne who seemed bewildered at his praise.

Rhaegar regarded the two of them, the corner of his lip quirking in amusement, “I will look into it. For now I suppose, it would be folly to take the sword off the Lady.”

Jaime pursed his lips and Rhaegar outright chuckled. 

“Best fighter or not though, Lord Commander, this won’t change what happens after.”

“I understand.” Immediately, Jaime made plans for their escape east.

* * *

The next day, she was surprised when Jaime guided his horse to fall in line beside hers. “You can’t cover my right if you aren’t at my right, My Lady.”

Brienne laughed under her breath. She remembered the look on his face in the Great Hall, the unreadable expression. The turmoil of emotions that she could no longer read, even though just a sennight ago she had known him better than the back of her hand. 

She didn’t know if he was angry at her for hiding the truth from him, or disappointed that the Galladon he had known wasn’t real, but she would do it. She would do everything in her power to preserve his life. 

“I hope tomorrow we will no longer have to contend with this wretched endless night,” Jaime dithered. 

Brienne looked over at him, “What do you see when you look over there?” She gestured to the east.

A look passed over his face that she could not describe. He didn’t answer.

“My father told me that when he looks at the horizon, he sees where the sun rises.”

Jaime hummed and looked at her, “When I look your way I see where the sun rises.”

Brienne quirked an eyebrow at him, “To the east, then?”

“No.”

“No?”

“To you.”

Before she could respond, the wights came.

* * *

Candles on the Stranger’s altars all across the Realm flared. 

“I will take back what is rightfully  _ mine _ .”

* * *

The battle wasn’t quick. It was long and gruesome, but the moment the army saw that Brienne and Jaime’s swords did indeed glow, the soldiers cut and burned through the wights with renewed vigor so that they could concentrate on finding the Others.

And they came, towards the twin swords glowing blue, one after the other, the ethereal monsters with their ice lances, which shattered and took the lives of those around them. Comrades fell and blood poured as one Other shattered on the tip of Good Heart’s blade and another burned on the edge of Sapphire Eye. 

Waves of wights fell as the first Others were destroyed and the soldiers rallied as they saw the fruits of the success. 

The third and forth Other came at them quickly and with vigour. Sweat poured into Brienne’s eyes and froze on her cheeks as she tried to keep ahead of the Other’s attack, and Jaime grunted with the strain that his left arm felt. All around them the field began to burn again.

Brienne nearly screamed in surprise as the tip of a sword came out of the stomach of the Other she was fighting, and although the steel did nothing to hurt the creature, the attack surprised it enough for Brienne to lodge her sword into the monster’s neck. When the thing shattered and became engulfed in blue flame, she met the King’s eyes and he nodded at her. She watched as a contingent of wights behind him fell. “Some of my men will aid you where we can,” he said, "Hold them back until you are ready for the next foe."

Brienne nodded, then swung around Jaime’s right side to bash the edge of her sword into the arm of the monster he was fighting and it too blazed in the glory of blue light. Jaime let out a breath. “Thank you, Lady Brienne.”

“I’ve been meaning to say. I also quite like the sound of just my name.”

Jaime opened his mouth to retort but instead lunged behind her to cut down an Other that had eviscerated a commander and had attempted to do the same to Brienne while she had her back turned. Brienne felt cold ice shards melt on the back of her neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “Jaime.”

Jaime barked out in laughter before they were once again back-to-back. The wights were now much reduced, and although they could see the casualties were high, they could also see that there were  _ survivors _ . 

The last two were the hardest two to kill. They controlled their wights so that they fended off any support the King attempted to direct their way, and Jaime and Brienne were tired. 

A lance cut her left cheek and Brienne screamed at the agony of it. 

“Brienne!”

“Jaime!” she shouted back in reassurance.

They both raised their swords, which glowed a brilliant blue that stopped the Others in their tracks, and brought them down together in one final blow. Ice exploded all around them.

Then there was only the light of candles. Hundreds, thousands, millions of candles. They lit in a swirling pattern centering at their feet, and once their vision was filled with nothing but the candle flames, Good Heart and Sapphire Eye stopped glowing.

_ “I am the end of all things.” _

The vision shattered and Brienne and Jaime fell to their knees, somehow now facing each other, the voice of the Stranger echoing around in their minds.

In the east, behind Brienne’s head, the sun rose.

Jaime took her into his arms and they cried. 

* * *

Jaime wanted to protest the arrangement, but he knew it was only right. They were given time to recover and he could not recover with Brienne sharing his chamber. As his wounds mended, he often wondered that if he had wedded her before the battle, whether he would then be allowed to lie beside her, annoy her, and complain incessantly about his pain. He would have spent the rest of the time kissing her.

The King visited him one day and Jaime made the effort to sit up in bed and not bleed all over the sheets.

“I can’t imagine that running to Essos will be easy with those injuries,” Rhaegar said with some amusement.

Jaime frowned at his apparent transparency, “You can’t possibly mean to take her head.”

“You used your favour, Lord Commander, it was not I who demanded that it be overturned.”

“Not even as a favour to me. She saved this Realm’s people. She saved your people,” Jaime argued, no longer caring about not bleeding onto the sheets as he leaned forward in his bed.

“You seem to often forget Jaime, that I am the King.”

“I always know who is King.”

The corners of Rhaegar’s mouth lifted, “Be that as it may, I will do what I deem fit with the Maid of Tarth.”

Jaime turned to him in alarm. “You don’t mean to wed—“

“As you said, Lord Commander, she did save the Realm.”

Jaime nearly exploded.

“Oh, calm down. I am only japing,” Rhaegar chuckled, “One must find some amusement between the endless council meetings.”

Jaime’s jaw clenched, “Your Grace.”

* * *

The moment she was able to rise out of bed, the King summoned her into his solar. Brienne sat and wondered if it would be unmannerly to ask for a private execution.

However, the King did not come to greet her and instead it was his little sister. She plopped herself right into Brienne’s lap, “I heard you fought the Others, Lady Brienne!” she squeaked.

“Um…” Brienne looked around and saw nobody else, “I did.”

“That’s very brave of you.” 

Brienne touched her bandaged cheek self consciously. “Thank you.”

“My brother thinks it’s very brave of you too! Rhaegar, not stupid Viserys.”

“That’s not very nice, calling your brother stupid,” Brienne whispered, then immediately regretted her words. One didn’t admonish a member of the royal family.

“I can call him whatever I want if he  _ has _ to be one of the ones to ride one of my dragons,” Daenerys pouted petulantly, “Let’s ask Rhaegar if you can be one of the dragon riders instead!”

Brienne blinked, “What?”

Daenerys grinned at her, “Want to meet them?”

“What?” Brienne asked again.

And then suddenly three tiny dragons flew into the solar and landed around Daenerys and therefore on Brienne’s lap. She nearly screamed and almost threw the Targaryen princess off of her. She was only stopped by a hand on her shoulder. “What did I say about your dragons, Dany?” Rhaegar chastised.

Daenerys didn’t look at all sorry as one curled on her head, one wrapped around her shoulders and the third snuggled into her lap, “That they scare most people…”

“Are you comfortable with my sister and her companions on your lap, Lady Brienne?”

Daenerys looked up at her with big, watery, violet eyes, and although Brienne was terrified she couldn’t deny the girl her wishes, “Yes, Your Grace.” First, the Others had been real. Now it was  _ dragons _ .

Rhaegar nodded and took a seat opposite of her. “This was not exactly how I planned to introduce the two of you, but it was why I summoned you here.”

Brienne looked up at the King.

“The world is changing. My sister has been chosen and clearly when she rides off into war on the back of her dragons, the laws can’t say that she must die for it.” Brienne gaped. “So why not change the law now, and set a precedence? It also does not behoove me to start a civil dispute over your death, especially while the Realm recuperates its resources and people. And I am certain I will have one very riotous dispute from a very,  _ very _ annoying Lord.”

“Are you saying…?”

Rhaegar smiled kindly at her, “I am saying you don’t need to worry about your life, Lady Brienne. There is no longer a law that demands for it.”

Brienne’s eyes watered, “Your Grace.”

“So for your service to the Realm, Lady Brienne, I will grant you anything you wish.”

Brienne felt tears sting at her eyes, and although there was something she wanted more, she knew it was not something the King could give her, “To go home and tell my father I’m alive, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar nodded.

* * *

Jaime had both Sapphire Eye and Good Heart strapped to his waist. The second sword he had found carefully wrapped with azure and rose quartered cloth on his bed after he had returned from a long, relaxing bath where he had turned pruny from talking to his remaining men. He had immediately run to the King’s chambers and pounded on his door. Rhaegar was expecting him and so waved him in and sat him down then explained everything. 

“She… she has returned back to Tarth?”

Rhaegar nodded in confirmation, “It was her wish to go home.”

Jaime gaped, “But she didn’t… she didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I wondered at that too,” Rhaegar smiled, “But she told me she thinks that you are infuriated with her.”

Jaime recoiled in shock, “Infuriated? Why?”

“For acting as a man for many moons. Gaining your trust under a guise.”

“But she had to!”

Rhaegar shrugged, “I did try to tell her to talk to you, but she seems to be a very stubborn woman.”

Jaime’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought of Brienne, “The most stubborn!”

“Even to me it was obvious you held no anger for her, but recuperating in bed leaves you with too much time to be alone with your thoughts,” the King mused out loud. “What do you want in return to your service to the realm, Lord Jaime?”

“Nothing you can give.” There was only one thing he wanted, and he would go get her himself.

“Seven, you’re about to hold something over my head for years to come again, aren’t you?”

Jaime stood up as ideas raced through his head, “It seems to be our equilibrium.”

“I should have disposed of my father when I had the chance.”

Jaime leveled a glare at him, “That is not something to find amusement with, Your Grace.”

“No,” Rhaegar said seriously, “You were disgraced where I would have been lauded. It should have been my duty.”

Jaime stared at his King, “Yes. It should have been.”

* * *

She had been shocked but not surprised, when she had arrived back on Tarth, to find that her father had remarried and sired a male heir. Still though, he had held her close, touched her damaged cheek, and whispered, “If I had known…” He had missed her, that was clear, but he had also made a life without her.

Brienne had cried on his shoulder, “But you couldn’t have known.”

The first sennight back in Evenfall Hall had been hard. She had felt like she no longer belonged on the island whose name she held, though much of it had been unchanged. No, she had been the one that was now changed. She no longer could bear the idea of an island life alone. 

The sun was rising in the east and she sat on the marble bench by the cliffs running her hand up and down her half-brother’s back, soothing him as he fell back asleep on her shoulder. She had whisked him away when he had woken up crying in the dark of the morning, caring for him even though she knew one of the nursemaids could. Somehow a baby, not born of her but of her blood, had become her most welcome company.

Not for the first time, her thoughts strayed to Jaime. They  _ always _ strayed to Jaime. “Why did I leave in such haste? I should have borne the brunt of his fury instead of acting craven,” she whispered weakly to the sleeping child. Since she had departed the halls of Riverrun, she had agonized profoundly over her choice. “And now I shall never see him again.”

“If it is me you are mumbling about, then please be assured you are wrong, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne stood and whirled around. Jaime stood there, dressed in crimson and gold, lit by the rising sun. “Jaime?”

His eyes widened at the sight of the child in her arms. “Brienne, you…”

She glanced down and realized what the image looked like. Her head snapped back up, “My brother! Half-brother…Duncan, the heir to Tarth.”

Jaime let out a breath and took a step towards her, “Of course. I’m sorry, that was foolish of me.”

Brienne felt tears prickle at her eyes and she took a step back, away from him, “Why are you here, Jaime?”

Jaime halted his movement, and his eyes captured hers. “Your father said that you would be here.”

“I meant on Tarth.”

“Why could I possibly want to come to the Sapphire Isle?” Jaime scoffed.

Brienne’s teeth scraped across her bottom lip.

Jaime sighed and the corners of his lips upturned, “There was someone of this isle that I wanted to see. To speak to.”

“You must be infuriated with me.”

“I am infuriated with you!”

“That I lied–”

“That you left!” Jaime snarled. The sound thankfully didn’t wake the sleeping boy.

Brienne gaped, “Jaime…”

“I only wanted to say five words to you, Brienne. That was all, and if you had still wished to leave, I would have let you… or if you had let me, I would have followed.”

“Five words?” Brienne questioned. Her hands shook.

“Five words,” Jaime confirmed, “I love you. Marry me.”

Brienne’s eyes widened, “What?”

“I would have told and asked Galladon the same, if the second had been possible. I had actually planned to request for him to come to Casterly Rock with me anyways, take up a position in my household… so that we could be together. If he wanted.”

Brienne’s mouth dropped open.

“How can I be infuriated with you, when I love you so strongly? So will you come to Casterly Rock with me, Brienne? Be together with me? Take up the position of My Lady Wife?”

“You can’t mean–”

But Jaime didn’t let her continue. “I know you question my devotion,” and then she watched Jaime struggle to unbuckle Good Heart from his side. “I gave you this and you gave it back. Now you question my feelings for you.”

“Jaime…”

“It’s yours, Brienne,” Jaime said and held Good Heart out to her, “It will always be yours.”

“I’m holding a baby,” Brienne whimpered.

Jaime looked utterly bewildered, “What?”

“I want to hold you. I love you, Jaime.”

His countenance softened. Jaime closed the distance between them as tears ran from Brienne’s eyes, “Come, My Lady Wife. I wish to have a family with you, so we may as well practice for someday. I do not ever plan to let you go, no matter the number of babes nestled in our arms.”

Brienne sniffled and nestled into Jaime, cradling Duncan carefully. Jaime’s hand and stump encompassed her. For the first time since leaving Riverrun, she felt warm.

“Please, don’t ever return this sword to me again,” Jaime murmured into her scarred cheek, his lips pressing away her tears.

“I don’t think I ever could again.”

Jaime held her tighter and kissed her, “Good.”

It was good. Good and sweet and everything it should be.

* * *

They exchanged their vows in Tarth’s Sept that evening.

The Stanger’s statue blinked once and its mouth curled into a smile.

Then it moved no more.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: Brienne goes undercover as a man (Galladon? As 'Brian', idc) - but played straight and the higher stakes the better. Jaime definitely starts realising he's more heteroflexible than he first thought. Canon AU or Modern I don't care!


End file.
